Better Days
by Sapadu
Summary: Collection of one-shots while I try to get back into the mindset of writing for Star Wars. Based on Princess, Prince, CMC, and the other Star Wars ficlets I've done.
1. NameCalling

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: Yes, I know I've been gone for a while. In my defense, I've had work and LOTS of writing for other stories to work on. Chapters for Prince and CMC SHOULD be coming. In the meantime, to try and get myself back into the groove of their stories, I decided I needed to write another Star Wars fic. So... yeah, this is the grease to get the gears turning again.

On that note, this is just a collection of asides that I couldn't work into the original stories because they'd interfere with the plot or story-telling. These are more of day-in-the-life, character driven one-shots. So, we'll have stories from Princess, Prince, CMC... pretty much any of my on-going stories. Hell, if you guys ask nicely, I could even do some of the shots I normally don't do.

Story 1: Name-calling

"Trike?" Triclops didn't open his eyes. He knew that voice, and he knew that name. And, of course, since there was only one person who lived in this apartment aside from him, that made it so much easier to guess. But, honestly, he was sleepy. He hadn't slept well at all this whole week. He just wanted to stay in bed.

"Trike." And the reason for his horrible sleeping... part of it was because he was, after all, a teenage boy and he was living with another teenager, a girl whom it was no secret he liked, and the two of them, thus, shared a mattress. But the real reason...

"Triclops, I know you're awake." Kendalina's foot was on his shoulder, shaking him. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to budge, even to pull the blanket back over his head. The real reason...

"Goddamnit, would you get up already, you big freak!"

This was the real reason.

Triclops stayed where he was.

"Fine! Sleep in! I'll just laugh at you when you're late for your shift." Triclops heard their door slide open, then shut, and he was alone in the apartment, faking sleep.

Two minutes later, he sat up.

It wasn't that he was sleepy, it wasn't that he was hungry, it wasn't like they'd had a big fight, and it certainly wasn't that he was going to be late for work in the nursery.

But... would it really kill Kendalina to wake him up... a little more romantically, just every once in a while?

-Name-Calling-

"Medic Orewahime, please report to Exam Room Four. Medic Orewahime, to Exam Room Four." The disembodied voice over the loudspeakers chimed. Triclops paused in rocking, then started again when the youngling in his arms started to fuss.

What had Kendalina done, now? The clinic's supervisor only ever made Kendalina report for clinic duty when he was really mad at her for something – it was the only punishment that really worked, as Kendalina couldn't stand the tedious work of fixing bacta on skinned knees, bandaging broken fingers, and administering shots.

While he was thinking about Kendalina, when was the last time he heard anyone call her that name? It was always 'Medic Orewahime this', 'Medic Orewahime that', and the occasional 'Where the hell is that damn girl?' He almost never heard anyone say 'Kendalina'. He wasn't even sure what the word would sound like, coming from the mouths of any of the other beings they worked with or saw on a daily basis.

And, really, when was the last time he had called her by name?

It was things like this that kept Triclops working in the nursery instead of actually growing as a person and getting a different job.

He took his lunch break with Kendalina that day. Through the whole meal, he didn't say a word, and she watched him, almost like a bird of prey.

"Trike, what's wrong?" She always knew when something was bothering him. He was never sure how she did, if it was something about how Kendalina understood him, or if it was just because he was that transparent, but it was always welcome.

"Kenda..." Triclops tried to muffle his voice in his sandwich. It wasn't easy to ask, especially when it seemed like such a trivial question, "...Has... have you heard anyone... call you by your name... recently?"

Kendalina bit down on a cracker with a loud snap.

"Not really." She grumbled, "I mean, it's not like I really want to hear anyone say it... Names are things that you've gotta take care of."

Triclops didn't look up – he knew that Kendalina was a little touchy about her name, given that her legal, birth name wasn't 'Kendalina Orewahime', but rather 'Girl Zuka'. He didn't quite mind. After all, he himself didn't have any real name to speak of.

But it was still somewhat ominous the way the was so defensive as she spoke.

"So... do you want me to call you Kendalina..." He asked. Kendalina looked up from her lunch and shot him such a venomous glare that Triclops immediately amended, "...Just every now and then?"

Kendalina frowned for a moment.

"No." She finally said, in her best 'Isn't that obvious' voice.

Something in Triclops' gut cringed.

"But... what about..." He asked, timidly.

"I said no, Trike." Kendalina stopped him before he could even start, "I don't like it."

She hadn't stopped Master Retaw from calling her 'Kendalina'. Triclops couldn't help but feel a little bitter.

"Is that why you won't call me Triclops, anymore?" He asked, half under his breath but still audibly.

"Trike, just drop it!" Kendalina snapped, standing up and dusting the crumbs off her hands. Triclops kept his mouth shut, knowing what Kendalina was prone to do when she was really agitated. Besides, they were at work. If Kendalina went into a surgery or got a patient when she was unhappy, she was liable to make a mistake or something.

Triclops wasn't upset enough to want that to happen.

He looked back up when he heard Kendalina groan. She'd stopped in the doorway back into the clinic, both her hands on her hips and her head drooping onto her chest. When she turned back around, Triclops could see, even from this far away, that she was annoyed.

"If it's really bugging you THAT much..." She started, "I'll let you in on a little secret."

Triclops blinked and tried not to look as hurt as he felt.

"I do have one special name. It's very important to me, nobody else knows what it is, and there is only one person in this whole kriffing galaxy that I will let call me by it."

For just a moment, Triclops felt like she'd punched him squarely under the ribs.

"...What... name is that?" He asked, knowing when Kendalina wanted him to ask.

Kendalina huffed, folded her arms, and looked him squarely in the eye.

"Kenda." She said, almost defiantly.

Triclops almost dropped the remainder of his sandwich.

"Now, I gotta go. See ya after work." Kendalina pressed the 'Door open' button and disappeared back inside. Triclops remained where he was, completely shocked into silence.

Well... that did answer... a few questions. Maybe.

The rest of the nursery staff was quite surprised to see the strange, white-haired boy whistling when he came back from his lunch break.

A/N: Yeah... comments would be appreciated, inspiration would be killer, and some assurance that nobody's formed a lynch mob because I haven't updated might not be too bad.


	2. Drag Race

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: On a request from Tenkai Nankobo. Actually, he asked for a similar story as the first one for a relationship between Ken and Jaina. This was, ultimately, the best I could come up with. Set much, much, much later in the CMC fic. Still, I tried to not write any spoilers in there.

Story 2: Drag Race

Jaina loved her speeder. She really, truly did. It understood her better than any living creature in the known universe, responded like an extension of her own body, attended to her needs and fit to her shape in a way that not even a lover could have done. Even compared to Zekk and their Joiners bond from the Unu nest, or her mutual partnership with Master Durron, or her deep connection with Jag as a fellow pilot, it was nothing to how she could just climb into the seat of her speeder and immediately feel as though she belonged.

It was like her mother's arms, but it smelled like her father's ship, and it was warm like her Uncle Luke's smiles and Aunt Mara's praise, and protected her like Chewbacca once had, but depended on her like Anakin and Jacen and, now that those bonds had been severed, Ben did.

"So, to answer your question, I guess it's because flying gives me real freedom." She finally surmised. The diminutive figure in the passenger's seat scoffed.

"If you love your speeder so much, why don't you marry it?" Ken sneered.

Jaina glowered at him.

"You're a real jerk, you know that?"

Ken's upper lip thinned against his teeth. It was a very unpleasant smile, one that Jaina understood why her uncle and parents were so uncomfortable seeing it on the Count's face. Even worse was how out of place it looked on his face, given it's shape and texture. It was almost like one of those horror drama holos that centered around an evil, demon child.

"Flattery will not sway me, Selle Jaina."

Jaina adjusted her seat enough that she could lean back and prop her feet up on the dashboard. It was Ken's turn to scowl at her, knowing damn well that she was just mocking him for having such short legs.

"Well, fine then. Why do you like flying so much?"

Ken slouched in the passenger seat, closing his eyes and propping his chin on the handle of that stupid cane of his. It looked horribly uncomfortable.

"...Well, for starters..."

"And if you even THINK of playing your 'I spent a majority of my childhood underground and the rest of my life on the ground' card, I'll kick your ass." Jaina put in before he could even start. The corners of Ken's lips twisted, as though he were contemplating arguing the point out, but was too tired to do so.

Jaina knew damn well that if she did any such thing, she'd be bringing the wrath of a majority of the Household down on her head. Frankly, though, she was hard pressed to care.

"Your uncle and your father are both great pilots." Ken finally said. Jaina mulled over this for a moment, before Ken continued, "And the majority of the men who I spent time with in the Alliance were the Rogue Squadron. Also great pilots."

So... it was a comfort thing, then? Or was it the great memories that flying brought back? Jaina couldn't figure it out.

"When I flew with Luke, I was always right behind him in the X-Wing. I could hear the humming of the ship and the whirring and clicking and beeping of Artoo in the compartment behind the cockpit... it was like I was part of the ship, itself. Then, when Captain Solo actually let me come on board the Falcon, I felt every bump in the ship's hull and the individual pieces of the ship's computer and her engines and pipes and wires as they tugged and pulled on each other to keep everything together. Nothing was uniform about that ship, and every take-off and every landing was different, every single time. There were so many voices on that ship... so many stories..."

Ken's voice had started to drift off in a mumble. Jaina had to snap her fingers in front of that stubby nose to wake him up. When she did, Ken jolted straight up, then cleared his throat.

"The bottom line is that the ships and their individual personalities were all fond memories for me. It's always something I miss – to be completely surrounded and immersed in a different being than myself, like I'm some part of a greater whole." Ken attempted to make himself sound more dignified and grown-up as he spoke.

Ken was a lousy liar. Jaina had figured that out by now. She'd been listening to Ken and Ben's heart to heart chats when they thought nobody else was around – she didn't trust the Count alone with her only little cousin as far as she could throw him.

She also knew that if she called him on his big fib, it would only get into a discussion about what made a man a real man, as opposed to a sissy.

Her speeder was no place for socio-cultural discussions of gender roles.

"What kind of music do you listen to when you fly?" Ken finally asked. Jaina hadn't been expecting that.

"Music?" She asked, raising her eyebrow. Ken just shrugged.

"Flying is just as much a social activity as it is a practical method of transportation. Just like eating, sleeping, education, and work, you have peers, friends, and rivals based on everything from the kind of vehicle you pilot to your style and skill with the controls." A pause. "So... yes, music."

Jaina stared at the simple outlay of her speeder's control panel. It had speakers built into the dashboard so she could communicate with other pilots in case of an emergency, but she really never bothered to install a music system in with it. The only real piece of equipment that could do that was the comm radio and she tuned it to frequencies for music programs rarely, if ever.

"Anything, I guess. Whatever's playing on the music channels." She mumbled. There was no way in the Krethin Hells she was going to admit to this little jackass that she didn't really listen to music when she piloted.

"But there are some genres you listen to more than others, right?" Ken pushed, "I know that I can't listen to pure instrumentals unless there's heavy percussion – otherwise, I'd fall asleep while I was flying."

There, Jaina would admit to him having a point. Just not out loud.

"Well... I guess I do have to have more... lively music. Something that matches how flying makes me feel. Something with a good..." What was the word for how she felt when she flew? Beat? Tempo? Rhythm? "Pulse. Something that wakes me up."

"Pulse, huh?" Ken mused, tapping the handle of his cane against his chin, "Good word for it."

High praise, indeed, coming from this pompous little bastard.

"What about you?" Jaina asked. In response, Ken flicked one finger in the direction of the dashboard's controls, twisting the comm radio on and fiddling with the frequency until it hit an appropriate channel. Jaina had kind of expected Ken to show rather than tell, so she didn't protest his use of the Force on her speeder's radio.

What she hadn't expected was to hear a Lammer song coming over the audio. One of his really raunchy ones, too.

"...Why am I not surprised that you listen to music written by pretty, sparkly men?" She finally asked when the chorus finished. So, the lyrics were not really for innocent ears – it was definitely music with a 'pulse' and who was she to argue with art?

"They're not all pretty." Ken said with mock indignation, "...Some are merely fabulous."

Jaina had to fight to keep her face straight, mostly because she refused to give Ken the satisfaction of making her laugh. After a moment of a tune she didn't recognize drifting through the speakers, Jaina moved her toe over to tap the button and turn the comm radio off.

"Wanna hear how the engine sounds?" She asked, sitting up and righting her seat. Ken did the same and strapped the restraints in place.

"Hells yes."

Jaina pressed the ignition button. Under her seat, the whole speeder vibrated as the engine powered on, the floor heating up with the rods in the ion engine and the repulsors lifting them off the garage floor. It was that old, familiar feeling that made Jaina feel even more alive than anything else. It was all about control – something her speeder gave her, but could just as easily take away, and she had to keep it, concentrating at all times so she didn't lose it for so much as a single moment.

Then, with a smooth, gliding motion, the speeder pulled out of the House and flew off into the skylanes of Coruscant traffic. The wind rushed against and under and over the speeder, tickling with Jaina's skin and hair in ebbs and flows as she picked up or reduced speed.

It was the most perfect bliss of all.

-Drag Race-

"Has it ever really bothered you?" The question came as the speeder waited at a traffic-control intersection. A very, very long traffic-control intersection. Jaina had almost forgotten she'd had a passenger until she looked over to see the Count staring off into the endless rows of buildings that made Coruscant's skyline.

"What?" She asked. Ken shrugged.

"I've talked about it with Ben a lot... I just figured it wouldn't hurt to get some different perspectives."

It took Jaina a moment to realize Ken was talking about Anakin Skywalker.

She continued to watch the signal. When was it ever going to be her chance to go?

"Not really." She finally answered after a second that felt like an eternity, "Some people mention it, occasionally. But nobody's ever really treated me different just because of my background."

Ken snorted. It was as though he knew what a bald-faced lie that was.

"Kidnappings for ransom or leverage don't count." Jaina finally snapped. Ken was still giving her that look, "In truth, people do treat me differently, but that's because I act differently. And, let's face it, I've done some pretty crazy things. Especially during the Yuuzuhan Vong war – after all that, I'd say any grief I get from other people is grief that I brought on my own head."

"I see." Ken's voice was deathly quiet, right to the point that Jaina wanted very much to be anywhere other than in the same confined space as him. When he spoke next, it was a normal voice, "What about your brothers?"

Jaina shrugged, herself.

"Anakin never seemed to have any problems. I never noticed it, he never said anything..." And that was the truth of it. For the one of them that had been named after their grandfather, Anakin had been the one to deal with the least prejudice out of all of them.

Jacen, on the other hand... well, look what Lumiya had done to him.

"You know, the fact that Lumiya went after Jacen and not you says something about your character." Ken finally mentioned. Jaina turned her head enough to see that Ken was no longer slouching, "In terms of skills and abilities, you two were mostly the same. So, the fact that she wanted Jacen as her apprentice means she knew you would be too strong for the Dark Side."

That was her signal. Jaina accelerated a bit more roughly than was probably legal. She didn't mind – she was angry. And when she was angry, her speeder was angry, too.

"So, Jacen was weak? Is that what you're saying?" She snarled, pushing on the accelerator a bit more, as though more speed would prove her correct.

"Sure." Ken said, remorselessly, "That's a compliment to you – you weren't. That made a difference."

Jaina continued to push her speeder to go faster. Other vehicles that were floating in the sky were starting to blend into a string of lights and colors as she flew past.

"You're a jerk." She hissed. She didn't see Ken smirking.

-Drag Race-

Jaina finally started to ease up on the engine when the House was back in sight. She only barely brought the speeder to a stop inside the garage and jolted backwards with the sudden halt. In the passenger's seat, the jolt shook Ken until he groaned and started shifting.

As she looked over, one of Ken's hands came up and rubbed at his eyes in an almost childish gesture.

"Did you SERIOUSLY fall asleep while I was speeding around Coruscant like a madwoman?" She demanded. If it had been anyone else, their knuckles would have split from gripping onto the seat so tightly. Here Ken was, sleeping like... well, like a kid.

He shot her one of his best cocky smirks.

"Compared to how my sister flies, that was a leisurely stroll in the park." He pointed out.

Jaina suppressed a shudder. She knew it was true – her single experience in the Monster had proven that.

Ken dug his cane out from under the seat and pulled himself out of the speeder seat.

"Hurry up – your father's still in his 'Eight simple rules' stage and liable to shoot me if he doesn't see we got back before midnight."

Jaina gave Ken the best dirty look she could muster, but did indeed follow him back inside the House. Just as expected, Han was still up and glared at Ken as he limped to his chair.

"If you two ain't dating, what business do you have keeping my daughter out so late?" Han finally called as Ken swung his legs up over the armrest.

"We were bonding." Ken replied, somehow managing to keep a perfectly straight face, "You know... girl talk."

And then, Jaina couldn't help but laugh, as well, at the look on her father's face.

A/N: Yeah... that cow's milked. Next!


	3. Warm and Bright

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: A snippet from the year Kendalina and Master Retaw spent on the run as they made their way to Coruscant.

Story 3: Warm and Bright

It was something strange. She couldn't really hold it, but she definitely felt it. Kendalina couldn't quite describe it. There was something – a strange, new sensation in her fingertips and on her palm and arm and face – that was so foreign and new that she couldn't be sure it was even real.

She actually didn't think she'd mind if it turned out to be just a dream. It was a wonderful dream.

"Kendalina? What are you doing?" Master Retaw's voice echoed in Kendalina's ears so thoroughly that Kendalina knew exactly where her teacher was standing. In almost the exact same way, Kendalina could feel the way Master Retaw was standing, as though her skin was sensitive to the displacement of the air by Master Retaw's shape.

Kendalina stretched her arms high over her head and wasn't in the least bit surprised when Master Retaw's hands gripped her wrist.

"What IS this?" Kendalina asked, "...It's like I can touch it, but I can't hold it."

By now, Kendalina had grown used to being able to feel jolts of emotions she didn't expect. Master Retaw explained that was 'The Force' linking her to other people's emotions.

Kendalina could have cared less about what did it, but she understood that it was other people she was sensing. She also didn't need to be a genius to figure out that it was Master Retaw's confusion she was sensing. Of course Master Retaw would be a little confused. She could see and tell what everything was, and if Kendalina couldn't, chances were that Master Retaw didn't know what it was Kendalina was feeling.

"What is?" Master Retaw asked.

Kendalina wiggled her fingers, then turned her hands over and over. As she did, the warmth moved over her hands, as though she were rolling a ball filled with helium over and over on them.

"It's warm. It makes my skin tingle." Kendalina breathed, turning her head from side to side and letting the tingle wash over the two sides of her face.

Master Retaw didn't say anything for a long time, but Kendalina suddenly felt her master's large, well groomed hands around her ribcage. Kendalina felt her feet leave the ground as Master Retaw raised her high up into the air – Kendalina got the sense that she was going over her master's head – and onto two large, sloping hills that seemed molded to fit Kendalina's knees.

Also known as Master Retaw's shoulders.

"Any different up there?" Master Retaw's voice came from somewhere past Kendalina's knees. In response, Kendalina reached up again, still not able to tell what this strange feeling was coming from. Her fingers touched something – something hard and protruding – but she lost interest, trying still to grasp whatever that warmth was.

"No... it's something strange... it's like it's following me..." Kendalina opened and closed her fingers, still trying to work out why she couldn't get a grasp on anything.

"...Kendalina..." Master Retaw said, slowly, "Are you talking about the sunlight?"

Kendalina stopped flexing her fingers.

"...Sunlight?" She asked.

"I told you about suns – the stars in solar systems that give the orbiting planets their light and warmth, and, consequently, life support systems." Master Retaw sounded amused and Kendalina could feel her master smiling. It was another warm feeling – kind of like this supposed sunlight, except nowhere near as alien.

"And THIS is what a sun feels like?" That was an interesting feeling, if something of bizarre.

Master Retaw actually laughed. Kendalina was slowly growing used to that sound – Master Retaw had never laughed back home, but it was a sweet, tingling sound. Kind of like when something broke, except it rang and resounded instead of crunching.

"It's what the sun in the Tanaab system is like. They can vary from planet to planet – some of them aren't quite as warm because of atmosphere composition, distance from their star, or rotation cycles. There are some planets where the orbit isn't perfectly around the sun and their southern and northern hemispheres have differing temperatures. On Ryloth, one side of the planet is constantly facing the sun, the other side constantly facing away." Master Retaw's head bobbed as she spoke and her shoulders shook as she began to walk.

Kendalina thought this over.

"So... was the sunlight on Corellia really, really dim or something?" She finally asked.

Master Retaw laughed again.

"Why do you ask that?"

"We didn't have this back home."

Master Retaw stopped laughing. Kendalina also felt a disturbing jolt which had to mean her master had stopped smiling altogether.

"Master Retaw?"

"You're right... you didn't."

Kendalina wanted to ask what was wrong, but Master Retaw was too quiet. In the place of where her emotions normally came flooding through, there was a giant numbness that Kendalina hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"Master Retaw?"

Kendalina felt a jolt and Master Retaw's hands clasped around her knees. Kendalina could feel the very tips of her master's fingernails against her kneecaps, holding her in place as she started to move even faster. Kendalina's stomach felt like it was rising in her ribcage.

"There's a field up on the hilltop, over there! Let's see if I can get up there in less than a minute."

Kendalina didn't remind her master that she couldn't see the hill. She was too busy making herself enjoy the ride.

A/N: An astute sister of mine asked why the fic is titled 'Better Days'. The answer is quite simple: All of my fanfics tend to be pretty tragic. Sooner or later, everything goes to hell and the story turns very, very dark. Princess ended with Kendalina being executed and Triclops going into a coma. Prince is going to progress into some seriously dark shit. And CMC – well, it's the Star Wars Count of Monte Cristo. There's no way it will end well. These ficlets are all moments before everything starts going to hell. Days when the characters can just live and enjoy life. Back when they were better days.


	4. Differing Values

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: Another little selection from Princess. Kendalina and Triclops again.

Story 4: Differing Values

It started with a conversation with Medic about the various things couples did. Normally, Kendalina didn't take much initiative, given that Triclops was so much better at the whole romantic bit. Also, she didn't really understand why Triclops was such a sucker for the sappy moments. She just didn't see the appeal.

Kissing? Why not call it swapping spit? And the horrible breath and dental issue. Gross.

Holding hands? What if she NEEDED her hands? What'd she do, then?

Hugging? Just plain pointless.

Love songs? The lyrics were usually pretty cheesy, hardly ever original, and mostly about some sort of tragic background until this magical person comes along and makes everything better. That? Was absolutely nothing like either of them.

Sex on the other hand, Kendalina was very fond of. Hell, why not? So long as she didn't get herself planted with an embryo-sized, soul-sucking parasite or a bacteria, virus, or fungus to eat away at her reproductive organs, life was good.

What Medic suggested was that romantic moments usually helped set the mood for more carnal pleasures.

Thus, Kendalina had buckled under, swallowed her pride...

And rented a holo projector and several dramas.

By the time Triclops came back from his shift in the nursery, Kendalina had wrestled herself into a mess of chords, wires, and plugs.

"Stupid, kriffing electronics!" Kendalina snarled, just in time for their apartment door to slide open.

Triclops wisely didn't say anything, instead just setting down the take-out meals he'd gotten for their dinner. Kendalina continued to fight with the chords and plugs, attempting to connect everything into the right circuit without breaking any of them.

"Um... Kenda...?" Triclops finally spoke, backing up when Kendalina looked up from her labors to scowl at him.

"Do something useful and... I dunno, hand me a pliers or something."

Triclops picked up the pliers, but didn't hand them to her.

"Could you not just... read the manual... or something?" He asked, cautiously.

This was a mistake as Kendalina threw something in his direction that would have been most unpleasant to be hit with. Fortunately for Triclops, his mate was both distracted and not really aiming properly.

"Manuals are for losers." She snapped, finally getting a chord to fit into a socket. From there, she managed to work out which plugs were supposed to connect with which wires, finally hooking the projector to the screen, and then the projector to the file-reader.

When she was finally finished, Kendalina got to her feet and grinned, victoriously, up at Triclops.

"Whaddya think of THAT! And it only took me three hours!" She bragged, ignoring that Triclops hid the manual behind his back. She'd kind of figured he'd read through it while she mucked around with the chords. What the hell – she'd gotten it done in the end.

"In impressive feat, indeed." Triclops observed, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, entirely. After a moment, though, Triclops cocked his head and frowned at the holo projector, "... But... why?"

Kendalina grinned as wide as she could, before she held up a handful of discs in their flimsiplast envelopes.

"We're gonna have a date, tonight!"

The look on Triclops' face was well worth the effort. He looked as though Kendalina had just smacked him in the groin with something, it was so funny.

"You were getting your hair all in a knot over how we never do anything romantic... so..." Kendalina let the syllable hang, before Triclops finished,

"You went out and rented a few holodramas that we could watch on a night in?" He sounded positively ecstatic at the idea. He wasn't even looking at the discs Kendalina was holding between her fingers – his whole face was lighted up, just looking at her. If Kendalina wasn't so used to it, she would have been freaked out by it.

"Sure, why not?" She finally finished. Triclops grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her as close to himself as was physically possible. Kendalina went, willingly, but exasperated.

"Kenda..." Triclops breathed in her ear.

"Yeah, I love you, too, you big lump. Now, let go – Imma get the first one cued up." Kendalina muttered, pushing away and pulling out the first disc and feeding it into the reader. Triclops was still grinning like an idiot as he slowly lowered himself down onto their mattress, idly thumbing through the other holodiscs.

"Kenda..." Triclops said, slowly. Kendalina swiveled her head back around, eyebrows raised. Triclops was no longer smiling. In fact, he was frowning.

"...'Sup?" She asked. Triclops looked up from the discs.

"'Saw?' 'Nightmare in the Third Quarter?' 'Evil Dead?' 'Night of the Walking Corpses?'" He asked.

Kendalina grinned.

"I've seen 'em all – they're REALLY good." And they were. And, anyway, it wasn't like she hadn't seen spookier stuff in HER lifetime. It was always fun to watch a good screamer.

"...They're all horror." Triclops finally pointed out, completely at a loss for anything else to say.

Kendalina crawled up right next to him and curled up.

"You'll like them. Trust me." She assured him. Triclops gave her a very worried – very untrusting – glance, but finally curled back up, letting his head drop to her shoulder.

– Five Minutes Later –

Triclops had retreated to behind a pillow, as though it would protect him from the monster on the screen. Kendalina, on the other hand, was leaning forward, completely engrossed in watching the stupid – and admittedly rather slutty – teenage girls on the projector getting their insides torn out.

"Ugh..." Triclops muttered, legs curling up. Another girl screamed.

"Yeah, she's a goner." Kendalina agreed, sounding altogether too delighted with it.

Not a second after she said it, the character's head was sliced clean open, fake blood spurting from the open wound and gleaming on the monster's weapon.

"Called it."

– Forty-five Minutes Later –

The next holo was very much the same as the first, albeit a slightly different plot and a different monster. Triclops was, by this point, hiding under the covers while Kendalina continued to enjoy herself by shouting at the screen.

"He's RIGHT BEHIND YOU!" The monster swung his arm down, slicing off a few arms, "Ha ha, these kids are MORONS!"

"Kenda..." Triclops mumbled from under the sheets. More fake cutting sounds and teen actors screaming. Kendalina even jumped at one point, pulling Triclops out from under the covers.

"Trike, look!" She pointed at the screen, "The guys who made this one actually did their research! All the other scenes, you just see gallons of fake blood going everywhere – I see this guys' kidneys, and there's his liver, and, ew, look at those GUTS!"

-Differing Values-

The next morning, Kendalina couldn't understand what Triclops was so upset about. Nor did she understand, for a whole week, why he refused to speak to her.

A/N: Yeah. Kendalina likes slasher movies. Ha ha.


	5. Festering

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: A Ken-centered piece. Kinda sorta takes place later on in Prince, but... I guess, technically, it could work as a stand alone based off of the books. Just a warning, it's kind of disturbing. Like... Clockwork Orange, kind of disturbing.

Story 5: Festering

Gone.

All of it was gone.

The Lost City was shut down, completely. Every individual droid, every computer screen, every power outlet, down to the last fluorescent light.

Ken had seen everything come to an end. The Lost City of the Jedi truly was lost, now.

And he'd been the one to do it.

"Kiddo." Ken looked up from the table as Captain Solo flopped down on the other side, "...You ever play dejarik before?"

Ken looked back down, finger nail tracing one of the streaks in the grain of the metal.

"No."

Captain Solo thumped the tabletop and a blue glow of the holo projector turned on.

"Prop up – I'll teach ya." The light flickered and several creatures took shape on the board. Ken could recognize the monsters from pictures he'd seen in the Jedi Library, some when he'd been just a year younger, some when he'd been much, much smaller. All it did was remind him that it was all lost, now.

"I don't feel like it." Ken mumbled, pushing back, into the wall. Captain Solo's lips twisted, as though he were upset, but at the same time, not.

"Still bummed about what happened?"

Ken nodded.

Captain Solo didn't say anything for a moment, but he did finally stand up and give Ken a sharp smack on the shoulder. Ken didn't cringe away from it.

"Hey, it could be a lot worse." Captain Solo said, half-grinning, "Yeah, it looks pretty bad, now. But look at it like this – everyone makes mistakes. And this one, it didn't end too bad. We got the bad guys in the end, and hey, it's not like anybody died!"

Ken looked up from the table.

Nobody died...

"Nobody died?" Ken repeated, quietly. Captain Solo was grinning.

"Yeah. So, cheer up – at least nobody got hurt."

Ken didn't answer. He could feel his eyes going wide. His hands had frozen on the tabletop and his mouth felt dry.

Nobody got hurt?

What about HC? What about the Master Computer? What about Dee-Jay?

Nobody...

Ken saw it! It wasn't just a droid being deactivated. Kadann hadn't just flipped their switches and tripped their circuits. He'd opened the panels. He'd pulled apart wires. He'd zapped their chips until they'd broken and burned and smoldered.

Died...

Ken'd seen Dee-Jay's main chip explode in sparks. He'd seen the metal buckle and splinter and burn. He'd seen the chip turn black as the hole formed. Black like oil. Black like the blood on a festering scab. Black like gangrenous flesh.

Nobody...

The Master Computer had been shot. Not just nicked or scratched, but hit square through the screen. The glass had shattered and flown everywhere. Like pieces of a body caught in an explosion. The tingling as its pieces crackled had rung through Ken's ears like bones as they break and the circuitry and controls had let out shrieks of steam as they'd melted.

Got...

Every minute scrap of information, from details of ancient civilizations long extinct to massive theories of physics and calculus had vanished. All of the data that the computers had held, blown, deleted, corrupted. For all the gigabytes of knowledge, every kilobyte, every megabyte, every byte, every bit! It was all lost. There was no recovery, and with it, it was as though all subjects of that information had died. Inside Ken, there was a big hole of screaming, as though those dead people, the extinct species, the expired histories, and the uncategorized minute pieces of the universe were wailing as they spiraled into their demise of being forgotten, forever.

Hurt?

"Nobody died..." Ken mumbled, still unable to taste the words in his mouth. Captain Solo was starting to look displeased.

"Right. Just keep reminding yourself – Nobody's dead."

Ken's fingers started to feel a strange, almost warm. They wanted to move, wanted to reach out and grab. Grab Captain Solo's head, his neck, pull into the table, squeeze, twist, pull. It was as though the signals to his fingers had mixed with some outside source, one that Ken didn't recognize and doubted he ever would. He was different, somehow. A child born from droids. He was separate, disjointed, wired in a way these alien, organic things never could be. If the droids hadn't counted...

Maybe he'd died, too...

"Yet." Ken muttered. His voice was a perfect monotone. Captain Solo huffed, rolled his eyes, then shook his head and walked out.

Nobody was dead. Yet.

A/N: Wow. This isn't really a very happy piece, is it? Not really fitting with the whole 'Better' theme. Shrug. Oh well, I liked it.


	6. Good for the Soul

BETTER DAYS

A/N: I just kind of wrote this on a lark. Prince has been updated, right? The CMC... not so much. As such, I decided to do something with Ben and... I can't believe I'm saying this... Gornash. Yes, the haggard, cranky, stressed out, Jewish butler. Hope you enjoy it.

Story 6: Good for the soul

The really pathetic part of living under the same roof as the Household of the CMC was that, in spite of the place being virtually a bottomless pit for rooms, there was still no place that Ben could find to just sit and brood. Every room had somebody in it, or the doors opened to strange places like a chute that dropped into the kitchen sink or just bare walls. Thus, he had to get out. Get some fresh air, get some sunshine, and get the hell away from everybody.

Getting outside didn't solve many problems – Benduday was the day of the week that virtually everyone had off of work, so mostly every level of the city was swarming with people, and strangers were no better than people who Ben knew. Most of them would give Ben the usual 'Where are that boy's parents' look, except for a few seedy looking creeps that Ben stayed well away from. It wasn't good enough – he needed peace, he needed solitude... he needed somewhere to hide, just for a little while.

Almost everywhere was jammed, just like the walkways and the public transportation, except for a single hole in the wall. There was a hand-lettered sign on the entrance, written in a language Ben recognized from some of Ken's books, but still couldn't read. And, at least, there weren't droves of people going in and out. It was enough for Ben to consider at least poking his head in and taking a look.

The inside was a single room, very dimly lit, and with rows of chairs from the entrance all the way to the front. The only space there weren't was in the very center of the room, and there, there was a box on the floor. In each corner, there were boxes on their sides, almost like private booths of some sort. A group of people were in the corner, mumbling words that Ben couldn't discern, but it was evident they didn't notice Ben. He silently slid through the door and let it click shut, behind him. Not a single eye turned up to see him. Moving as quickly as he could, Ben crept into the corner and slid into one of the booths. It was pitch black and totally silent inside. Perfect.

There, Ben sat and thought for a long time. He thought about Jacen, and he thought about the Sith Jacen was becoming. He thought about Jaina, and about how seeing Jacen turn had just made her snap, and how Uncle Han, Aunt Leia, and Jaina were no longer speaking with each other, even though they were still a family. He thought about his mom, how she'd said that it was common for wars and horrible events like this to ruin relationships, how she'd tried to take Jaina's training to better lengths and how she'd been spending more and more time with Aunt Leia, and Ben thought about his father, how he said that the best they could do was have faith that some good was still left in Jacen and how he'd attempted to keep Han and Leia at least pacified and the other various things he passed off as 'just being there for Han as a friend'.

And Ben thought about still more. There was the Household – none of them could deny that Jacen's turning had had an impact on their lives, and Ben couldn't help but wonder if it was his fault. After all, it was because of him that his and Jacen's family were now living under the CMC's roof. Tensions were impossible to avoid, especially since all of the Household had openly declared hostilities for SOMEone in his family. Hell, Dalina had outright bragged that she was itching to strangle, poison, mangle, mutilate, and otherwise messily murder his father, aunt, and uncle. Then, of course, Haid was nowhere near happy with Uncle Han and Jaina. And Ouduar... oh, that was just uncomfortable.

Then, of course, Ken himself was a whole basket case, alone. Just the fact that he was being so calm about the whole arrangement was unnerving, but he'd also been present to see Jacen turn. Deny it all he like, Ben knew it had shaken the Count. And he'd proved it by asking Ben: 'If you could either love Jacen Solo or hate Darth Cadeus, which one would you pick?'

It had been sobering, but it made Ben's life utter hell to think about. In all honesty, he didn't want there to be a Darth Cadeus at all – he wanted Jacen to be Jacen, the same as ever. He wanted his cousin, his friend, the normal, imperfect, perfectly human guy Jacen had been. He wanted the Force to go away, to leave his family alone, to not be responsible for getting them all into this mess.

Maybe he wanted to love his cousin more than he wanted to hate the monster he'd become. But how could he just forgive Jacen? He'd done terrible things, and that was before he'd even turned. Even worse, was that it had all been under the law. He'd done it for the sake of the Republic, and that had, in turn, made the galaxy worse. Even if he wanted to do it, he couldn't just make it happen on the principle it would be the smart route to take.

Ben wanted to sigh, except, on the other side of the booth's wall, he heard another voice do just that. Ben's ears seemed to open, each tiny breath sounding sharp and echoing. Ears open, Ben knocked on the side of the booth. Whoever was outside gave a startled grunt.

"Rabbi?" It was a familiar voice, but Ben couldn't place it right away, "I didn't realize you were in there." Oops. Ben hadn't realized he wasn't supposed to be sitting in here. Instinctively, Ben tried to disguise his voice into a high, hoarse croak, hoping that whoever was sitting out there would just take the explanation he gave and then leave him alone.

"It's alright – I just wanted some time alone." The stranger outside didn't comment on Ben's voice, if it sounded different or unusual. For a moment, Ben hoped that they'd just passed off the moment as an awkward formality, then went back to their business. It ended when the person on the other side of the booth started to speak again, this time in a low voice as though it were a private moment that he was ashamed to have others hear.

"Since you're here, could you give me some advice?" Well, this sucked. Ben wondered if he should stop this guy and admit that he wasn't really the rabbi and then get out of there, except he had the feeling he'd get in very serious trouble for sneaking in here. Garbling his voice again, Ben answered.

"I can try." Whoever was outside the booth took a steadying breath and Ben heard the start of a brand new problem that he wasn't sure he could deal with.

"It's about my employer." He started. Ben found himself almost hoping, suddenly – employee complaints were usually pretty common problems, all he had to do was give a solid answer and that would be the end – until the stranger continued, "...I think I should confess this to him... but I'm not sure if this is quite what we're supposed to concern ourselves with."

Ben wondered if he should ask, but the stranger continued without prodding.

"I'm a valet. And I haven't done anything... not in terms of taking anything or doing any harm... but there are things that I think about... horrible acts I imagine myself doing." Ben squirmed. He kind of wished he wasn't hearing this.

"There's nothing wrong with thoughts – nobody can control their thoughts or desires, only how they act, based upon them." He answered. The person on the other side groaned, just a little.

"That's not what bothers me – it's... well, I can't help but think two different things, both at the same time." The stranger paused, "Rabbi, can you promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say?"

Oh, this couldn't be good.

"Absolutely."

"My Master is a living descendant of the old Emperor." Ben put a shaking hand on the side of the booth as he recognized Gornash's voice. It wasn't just something uncomfortable, but Ben suddenly realized he was about to hear some of the butler's internal thoughts – something that he was sure not even Ken knew.

"He is the embodiment of all the prejudice and suffering that our people had to go through during the Emperor's reign, everything that happened to my family, the reason I was made into a puppet for that same Empire, the people who destroyed my homeplanet... there's just so much that he represents of the Emperor. I hate him. I would like nothing more than to put my hands around his scrawny little neck and squeeze until his neck snapped and the skin tore and his head came clean off his shoulders."

Ben was starting to wish, much more sincerely, that he wasn't hearing this.

"He's arrogant and pompous, he pretends that he has all the answers and that he is the embodiment of justice, he plays with other people's futures, just like the Emperor, and doesn't even care for the consequences of his actions. It makes me furious to just think about it. And it's even harder to keep myself restrained because I'm at his side every moment of every day, his servant, his PROPERTY..." Gornash paused to take a breath and keep his voice lower. Ben could imagine him putting his head in his hands.

"I see."

"But... because I'm there, I also see the other things he does. He calculates every move that he'll make, sometimes even inviting the disasters that his actions will set into motion. I see him sneer and swagger and scoff, and when someone finally hits him for his arrogance, I see him smile... I see that he's satisfied, that he only behaves that way to provoke others into attacking him.

"I see that his illusion of justice is only what he can do, because he knows true justice would be worse. And I can tell that the reason he does all of it is because he's terrified of doing the same things as the Emperor, but because he somehow thinks he deserves to be punished for the Empire's crimes. And all of it makes me even angrier at him, because he has never shown me – or anyone else in the Household, or even his adversaries – anything but kindness.

"Even if I am his slave, he lets me speak and act like a free man, and never, never once forced any of us to do something against our wills."

Ben didn't know what to say for a long time, and it was slowly becoming evident that Gornash was waiting for some sort of recognition of his words. He could now see that, not only did he not want to hear this, but he really shouldn't be. It just wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

"And... this makes you angry with him? Because he treats you well, instead of poorly?" Outside, Ben could hear Gornash breathing heavily. He'd never heard Gornash get worked up over anything – the man had always been a very stereotypical, stiff-faced butler: always cool, always collected, always in control. Maybe it was a good thing that Ben couldn't actually see him having this freak out.

"No... but, because, when I was still under the Empire's control, he was the one who told me... I should have known much earlier, I should have figured it out... but he gave me the truth about Alderaan's destruction. Instead of giving me a lie, he told me the truth... he set me free." Ben had never heard about this. It must be something that only Ken and Gornash knew about. Suddenly, he felt incredibly uncomfortable, being let in on something so personal, "...For that, I love him."

Oh, now Ben knew that he shouldn't be listening to this.

"I don't know what I should do anymore. I hate him for everything that he represents, but for all that he is, I can't help but be in love. My hatred has helped me survive this whole time, kept me going, gave me a purpose. And he doesn't even mind – it's as though he's afraid that if I don't hate him, he'll burn in an afterlife.

"But as long as he's miserable like he is, nobody in the Household is happy. If nothing else, I feel like it should be my duty as a butler to make my Master happy, and there are some days that I think that could be enough. And then, I'm reminded of everything that used to be and the resentment comes back and mutates into hatred." Gornash groaned again, and Ben almost understood – just listening to the dilemma was giving him a headache.

Ben opened his mouth to answer, before he realized that, the last few times, he hadn't even disguised his voice. Gornash had simply continued to speak, not even noticing. With a pause, Ben forced his voice into an unnatural rumble.

"So, you want me to advise what you should do... in what way?" He asked, hoping that he didn't sound as nervous as he felt. Gornash muttered something indistinct, then spoke again.

"I'm not even sure if there is anything I can do. I got the idea that I could try confessing... that it would somehow make everything clearer, that I would then realize what I'm supposed to do... but I don't even know where to start." More than ever, Ben was wishing he wasn't here. He tried to think of something he could say, some sort of advice he could give.

"Perhaps you're thinking of the wrong thing – you said that you would like to believe that a butler's duty is to think of his Master's well-being, but you haven't been doing so. There might be a good place to start." Was what he finally offered. Gornash didn't say anything in response, so Ben kept going, hoping it was enough to at least stop from doing any further damage, "But after that, what you do depends on what you want. Would you really be happy to live with nothing but your hatred and resentment? Or would letting go of it give you peace? You have to choose that on your own."

Gornash was still silent. Ben wasn't even sure if he was still out there or if he'd left the moment Ben had started speaking. He was almost on the verge of cracking the booth open to check when he heard the clicking of feet on the floor and the rustle of some heavy cloth – Gornash was probably wearing some kind of civilian cover over his work suit, or at least that was all Ben could really imagine – before more footsteps, going around the booth, going to the right, then the hiss of a door sliding open, then shut.

Ben stayed in the booth, as though paranoid Gornash would come back and catch him sneaking out. He was still confused, but at the same time, things were starting to make sense. Dad had told him about Vader, and their final battle. Dad had told Ben that there had been a conflict inside Vader, a conflict inside Anakin, two different desires that were endlessly fighting for dominance.

Ben hadn't believed Dad. Or, if he had believed, he hadn't understood enough for the conversation to really stick. But, somehow, hearing Gornash talk about almost exactly the same thing...

He could have hit himself in the face – everything that Ben had come here, looking for solitude, thinking about had such an obvious answer, now. It seemed obvious enough for Ben to give it as advice to someone else; he just couldn't believe that it had taken him so long to figure it out.

More than anything, Ben wanted Jacen back. And, damn it, that's what he was going to do. If he had to drag Jacen back to the light side by the roots of his hair, he was going to do it, but either way, he was going to get his cousin back.

* * *

Luke wasn't sure where Ben had gone, or what he'd done, but when he saw his son practically skipping his way back into the House, it was enough to lighten Luke's spirits, just a little.

"Thanks, Dad." Were the first words out of Ben's mouth when Luke saw him. Before he could even ask what Ben meant, the youngster had scrambled off to the Count's study. There, he found Ken poring over a murder in the holoclips and the butler preparing a tray of tea just in the background. Luke stayed out of the way – he didn't particularly want to be spotted by the so-called head of this crazy house.

"Hey, Ken!" Ben bounced into a cushioned chair without waiting to be invited. For some reason, Ken let him do it, only looking up from his work to acknowledge he'd heard, "Hurry up and get over it – there are other guys in the galaxy waiting for you to be single."

Was it just Luke's imagination, or was the butler suddenly giving Ben a venomous glare? Ken actually put the datapad down, seriously pondering Ben's words before responding.

"Ben, that is sweet... but in most systems, it would technically be illegal. And, in all honesty, the systems it is legal in, I would not venture, anyway." Ken reached over and patted Ben on the head, almost patronizing, "Not until you reach eighteen, dear."

Ben shot backwards and started sputtering. Luke knew he wasn't supposed to laugh, but it was damn hard not to.

"Wha... I... NO! Not ME!" Ken didn't seem terribly interested in hearing Ben's protests, especially as the butler glided over with a fresh cup.

"Thank you, Gornash."

"Are you even listening to me?" Ben demanded. Ken shrugged as he sipped his tea.

"Listening or believing?" Ben glowered.

"I hope you suffer horribly." He muttered, in that tone that Luke recognized as a 'I'm mad enough to say it, but not really mean it' kind of affection. Ken's lips twisted up at the corners.

"I think marriage falls under the category of 'Not quite legal', as well."

A/N: Yeah. Laugh, cry, or just shrug and go 'meh'. I had fun.


	7. Perspective

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: I just really needed to write this. If I hadn't, I'd end up putting it in Prince, and Prince's story just is not right for the tone of this side story.

Story 7: Perspective

Luke Skywalker, in spite being an important figure in the Alliance, couldn't help but feel sometimes like he really wasn't all that useful. So he blew up a Death Star and led the Rogue Squadron during their major missions. He wasn't very skilled with coordinating tactics, he wasn't quick or sharp enough for diplomatic mercy, he didn't even really have a set of skills that was entirely useful.

It bothered him a lot more than Luke liked to let on. Partly because of his overweighted conscience, but also because it usually left him without any real projects or duties to do on a daily basis. Just going from hangar to hangar, chamber to chamber of the Alliance base and seeing other members with clear orders and directives made him edgy. Unlike them, he didn't have anything that he was specifically meant to do, nor was there anyone he could go to and ask what work needed to be done.

Sure, they had a war going on, but Luke had never thought there would be a time he would be bored while on base. It quite literally seemed like there was nothing he could do. Leia had duties as one of the Alliance Council. Han had smuggling and flight missions. Wedge and the Squadron had sneak attacks to prep for. Luke...

...Had scum to clean out from the tanks, maybe?

Luke really, honestly, missed having chores to do. It was maybe the thing he missed most about Uncle Owen's moisture farm. Well, second to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, themselves, in all their nagging, overbearing, comfort.

With nothing else to do, Luke decided that maybe cleaning scum out of the tanks might not be such a bad idea. The only thing wrong with that plan was going there in his Alliance issued uniform. It was supposed to be for formal meetings – about the closest he ever imagined he'd come to wearing a suit. For a moment, Luke contemplated getting himself covered in grease just to take out his frustration, but he could just imagine the look on Leia's face if he needed another one just because he'd gotten this one mucked up.

So, Luke was headed towards his quarters – almost trudging along – with every intention of changing into something he could get dirty. Imagine how surprised he was to see the door was already opened, when he was sure he'd closed and locked his door.

Silently and suspiciously, Luke slid along the wall into the little quarters he slept in. Nobody was in there, but he heard something moving in the attached fresher. When he looked through the cracked open door, Luke saw Ken rustling around in one of Luke's shirts.

Ken. For a moment, Luke couldn't believe he'd been so stupid to forget. He did have something to do, and unlike other soldier duties and chores to do, Ken was becoming more and more of a project that Luke could not let out of his sight for more than a matter of seconds. It wasn't just that the boy had a propensity for attracting trouble – if Luke remembered correctly, that seemed to be a natural part of being in the Alliance and being a Jedi. It was also that, unlike everyone else in the base, Ken might as well have been an infant just learning how to talk, react, and emote like normal people. Things that Luke knew when he was Ken's age, Ken didn't know or understand. Luke had totally forgotten that Ken needed instructions, just to get through a basic conversation.

And, currently, Ken had done the snaps on Luke's shirt, completely in the wrong order so it buckled at the third clasp. The tails hung down, almost to the boy's knees. The sleeves hid Ken's hands completely from sight. The lines that drew the shoulders were halfway down Ken's upper arms. Ken lifted his arms a few times to try and push the sleeves up without resorting to rolling them up, but the moment he let his arms hang, the cuffs fell back down. Even when the clasps would have choked Luke's wrists, they were still wide enough for Ken to fit his entire hands through the cuffs.

Luke heard Ken sigh. The boy stared at his gloomy reflection in the mirror on the fresher wall. It was enough to make Luke wonder exactly what Ken was thinking about, at this particular moment. But he couldn't wonder long – he needed to at least alert Ken that he was there.

"Ken." Just one word made Ken jump, then slip and land in a heap on the floor. Even to Luke's eyes, the pratfall looked almost deliberate.

"Luke!" Ken managed, slipping to his feet. Luke had to put a lot of effort into keeping his face straight. Given that Ken was prone to trip over his own feet on a daily basis, Luke was getting a lot of practice.

"Could I have my shirt back, please?" It seemed like the best place to start. Ken almost immediately started to pull the garment off, not even needing to undo the snaps to pull it over his head. Luke was even more embarrassed to see that Ken hadn't even taken off his own shirt and jacket, and Luke's shirt had still been far too oversized. Even with his shirt reclaimed, Luke stayed in place, watching Ken squirm. It was obvious that something was bothering him – and Luke was willing to guess what it was, too – but it made Luke even more uncomfortable that Ken wouldn't just come out and say it. If he didn't know any better, he almost thought Ken was scared to tell him.

He hoped that Ken wasn't scared to tell him.

"What's wrong?" Luke finally asked, when it became obvious that Ken wasn't going to say or do anything. Except, of course, stand by and squirm.

Ken's nostrils flared as he stared at his feet. Luke would have given anything to be able to hear Ken's thoughts. Whatever it was was obviously bothering him – well, there was a statement of the obvious – and Luke couldn't help but wonder how long Ken had been pondering the subject.

Something about how Ken didn't want to be treated like a kid anymore, perhaps? Wanting to be famous? Wanting to be an adult, at long last? Wanting to be useful – that seemed to have been a common subject of Ken's broodings, recently.

"Why can I not be more like YOU?"

Luke stopped to blink. Ken was still refusing to lift his head.

"Like me?" Luke finally managed. Ken was still scowling at the floor, "Well... I don't expect the Empire will be building anymore Death Stars for you or anyone else to be blowing up, but..."

"No!" Ken muttered, exasperated, "...Why can I not be the Jedi you are? It feels like for every step I take forward when I train, you are always a light year ahead of me... No matter what I do, you are always going to be stronger and smarter and better at everything than I am. There is nothing you cannot do, and everything you can do, I have never seen anyone do it better than you. How am I supposed to be your equal when I cannot even measure up to half of who you are?"

Ken glanced up for a moment, but it was enough for Luke to see the exact look in his eyes – a look of adoration, mixed with deep, self-resenting jealousy. It was the look of someone frustrated when looking up to a model they viewed as perfect.

'Why am I so perfect? Is THAT what he's thinking?' Luke was so taken aback for words that he couldn't have even made a sound, if he'd been able to open his mouth to speak. Ken was still staring at the linoleum floor in the fresher, as though he were aware that his question had made his thoughts perfectly audible to Luke and was attempting to take them back by sheer force of will.

Of course he wasn't perfect. Luke knew that all too well. But how could he really get it across? Well, the easiest way to do it was to tell Ken all the things he couldn't do – he couldn't negotiate a treaty with other generals and politicians. Not like Leia or any of the other leaders of the Alliance could. He couldn't pilot a ship out from under Imperial general's clutches and navigate through a field of asteroids. Han maybe, but not him. He couldn't govern an entire city floating in the clouds and keep the economy and government running smoothly. That seemed to be Lando's talent. He'd been a lousy farmhand, so lousy that even Threepio and Artoo had been better at it for the few hours they'd been on the farm.

Luke couldn't keep his best friend from getting himself killed, his living friends from getting into trouble, protect the innocent people who had been dragged into this war just because he'd landed on their planet, stop the Empire from destroying planets or cities, or stop Han and Leia from fighting. What good were his powers if he couldn't even help them?

Hell, he couldn't even maintain a relationship with a lady he found attractive or interesting.

"You're giving me a lot more credit than I deserve." Was all Luke could really manage to say. Ken's head snapped up and his fists balled up in frustration.

"But you CAN! I have SEEN you do it. You never get angry, even at people who are your enemies or who have done something wrong. If someone yells at your or insults you or anyone else when you are around, you only ask that they apologize, and then you forgive them. At times when Captain Solo or Princess Leia do not trust someone or are angry with them, you will talk to them exactly as if they were one of the Rogue Squadron or another Alliance member.

"Everyone in the Alliance knows it, too – if you say something to them, they actually listen to you, even if they do not want to. If you have to make a decision, they follow it and nobody questions you, when another leader making the same decision, they would at least grumble about having to do it. When you even come into a room, I can tell that everyone just relaxes, and the tensions break down. If anyone needs assistance with anything, they always ask for your help, and you always do it. You never break your promises, you never lie, you never cheat, and you never say things unless you mean them. Nobody else in the whole GALAXY could do all that."

It took every ounce of restraint Luke had to not turn red. Never in as long as he could remember had anyone said any of that to his face.

'And here I was, just meditating on my own uselessness.' He mused.

"Being kind, honest, fair, and polite are standards that all people are expected to maintain. Just meeting them doesn't make somebody perfect." Luke managed to explain when he could be sure he wouldn't choke halfway through, "And you, yourself, embody more of those traits than you give yourself credit for."

Being much less trained than Luke was in discipline and restraint, Luke wasn't surprised when Ken's face turned bright pink. It probably wasn't such a bad thing, if it at least got Ken's mind off his brooding.

'This must be what parenthood is like in later years.' Was all he could think.

"Ken, come out here." Luke paced away from the fresher and sat down on the floor of his quarters. Ken followed, mimicking Luke's posture as best he could, "Relax – this is going to be an exercise."

Ken blinked for a moment, then unfolded his legs, relaxing to a more natural sitting position.

On the floor between them, Luke drew a line with his finger. It didn't show on the spotless floor, but it was enough to at least get the image into Ken's head.

"What I want you to do is to imagine there's a barrier between us, right here. Like a panel of glass." Luke raised a hand and pantomimed pressing it against this supposed wall. Ken blinked for a moment, then mimicked the gesture. His hand just barely brushed against Luke's, only the raised bumps on his palm and fingertips truly touching.

"...Okay..." Ken finally muttered, looking truly confused. Luke put his hand down.

"Now..." Luke said, slowly so the words would sink in, "Stretch yourself into the Force. The way you do when you're doing your exercises, but you're not trying to move anything. Just reach out, like you just did with your hand."

Luke concentrated just enough and stretched his Force sense out, right up to the line he'd drawn on the floor. Ken was still blinking, completely confused, but Luke knew Ken could at least sense what Luke was doing.

"Just focus on the Force, Ken. Open yourself up to it, let it flow through you, and stretch out into it."

Ken's eyes closed. Luke could feel the air shift, like around a baby bird flapping it's wings for the first time, but not lifting out of the nest. Ken's presence was stirring, just trying to dislodge itself from the static of itself. Luke stretched himself out, just a little further. Through the Force, he brushed against Ken – less of a brush than if he'd reached out to brush Ken's bangs out of his eyes.

The corners of Ken's mouth jumped, then relaxed. His breathing became more natural. Luke slowly drew back, coaxing Ken to reach out. He knew that, for Ken, the distance of just centimeters between them must seem like impossibly long stretches. But Luke also knew that he couldn't be impatient – that trying to rush Ken along would make things harder for him, harder for both of them.

Sure enough, Ken stretched back. As slowly and steadily as Luke pulled away, Ken's presence in the Force stretched further. It shook, and it was apprehensive. It was filled with a kind of dread, as though Luke was leading Ken off of a cliff and teaching him how to walk on thin air, but also a sense of desperate trust, like he was afraid to let Luke out of his sight for fear of stepping off the path.

Luke had ceased to retreat. His senses were stretched precisely to that line he'd drawn, but Ken's Force presence had ceased to advance any further. It was fixed, only halfway to the meeting point. Luke could sense Ken's anxiety, his nervousness, a kind of turmoil that Luke usually associated with existential crises that only came with traumatizing battles or captivity.

'You can do it, Ken. I know you can do it.' But Luke didn't dare say it, not if it would break Ken's concentration.

Just thinking it seemed to have jinxed it – Ken's Force presence dropped, like an exhausted arm flopping, bonelessly, back to it's owner's side.

"I cannot do it." Ken sighed, sounding disgusted with his own shortcomings.

"You can. You just need to stop thinking you can't." Luke murmured. He could hear Yoda's voice saying 'You must unlearn what you have learned.'

Ken shook his head, despondently.

"I cannot even lift a starship."

Luke bit back his comment that starting with starships was hardly something to attach the word 'even' to.

"The first time I tried to lift an X-wing, all it did was sink into the swamp." He ended up replying.

Ken opened his eyes enough to glance up into Luke's face. They shone brightly enough that Luke could see his reflection. In response, Luke stretched back out into the Force and pressed on what he could sense of Ken's Force presence. Ken jumped a little, but after a few blinks, his eyes cleared and his back straightened, as though Luke had just patted him on the back.

This time, Luke was amazed that Ken's senses stretched out, almost immediately. There was no tremor or hesitancy – it was like an arm emerging, fully formed, from a cell and stretching out, brushing against him. Ken's will had gone from fearful and ill-prepared to something strong and sure.

The only thing that really disturbed Luke was how rapidly the shift had occurred. Obviously, he couldn't be there all the time, whenever Ken might need to use his abilities.

But, at the same time... Luke guessed there was no reaching perfection in just a single afternoon.

Sighing, Luke reached over and ruffled Ken's hair. Ken jumped, just a little. His concentration was broken, but it was enough to bring the exercise to a less awkward end.

"Did you learn something from this, then?" Luke asked. Ken's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, considering. After just a moment, Ken looked back in Luke's direction and nodded, half his face twitched upwards in a smile.

"I think so."

Luke grinned back as he stretched and stood up, stiff from his position. Ken followed suit, more than eagerly.

"Get changed into some work clothes and we can talk about what you learned while we clean grease out of the engines." He shooed Ken out of his quarters with a pat on the shoulder. Ken's face fell, but it was brief – whether the boy was excited about cleaning engines or getting to spend more time talking with Luke, Luke honestly couldn't tell.

The door slid open as Luke started to unbutton his uniform. Cleaning engines actually didn't seem like such a miserable prospect right now.

"Luke?" Luke turned back around, shirt halfway off as Ken's head poked back into the room, "Do you ever wish you were more like me?"

This time, he knew immediately how to answer.

"All the time." Luke replied, wrestling his right hand out of the cuff of his shirt, "But I wouldn't fit into any of your clothes."

A/N: Yeah. Go ahead and shoot me – I will feel no pain.


	8. Natural Colors

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: Probably going to be my last one for this story. Scene from Princess, when Kendalina and Triclops have their apartment. A little more adult than the others are, but not really that specific.

Story 7: Natural Colors

Triclops had decided, a long, long time ago, that he was very fond of kissing. Kendalina didn't quite seem too enthusiastic about it, but she obliged anyway. It was just a tactile fascination he had with it – it was unlike any other kind of skin contact there was.

That, and the fact that it was something he could only do with another person – specifically, with Kendalina – made Triclops infinitely curious.

Kendalina, however, was much more interested in other pursuits when they had the day off to be alone together. Two of those things were sleep and food. The third was much more than just kissing.

Normally, they waited until nightfall. Triclops couldn't help it – he was a romantic at heart. And Kendalina never really seemed to mind, since it was much easier for both of them to just fall asleep afterwards with no sun shining right into their eyes through the window.

But today, Kendalina was impatient. Very impatient.

All things considered, there were worse fates to be had. And Triclops didn't mind, terribly, when he got to spend a whole half-hour just kissing her. It was intense and rocking and made him feel utterly euphoric. Kendalina would push him back down into the pillows every time he tried to sit up, but the fastens on his shirt would surely come undone each time he tried. He'd feel up the sides of Kendalina's arms, run his fingers down her back, pry his nails under her waistband, anything to keep the moment lasting.

Kendalina sat up long enough to pull her top completely off and whip him across the chest with it.

If there was one thing Kendalina could make him enjoy that nobody else could, it was being hit.

"Trike." She said, her voice a command just by virtue of being her voice, "Sit up."

Triclops sat up. Kendalina went back to her work, her hands and fingers working on his body as she did so. Triclops returned the favor as best he could with Kendalina encumbering his movements. His shirt slid off his shoulders as her lips went down his neck and chest. Triclops knew what was coming – Kendalina only did this a few times before something outright sexual.

In any other culture, it might have been submissive, but Triclops knew better. For one, Kendalina wouldn't do it if it were submissive. For another, he knew that she could just as easily bite down if he made a wrong move. So, on the rare occasion Kendalina decided to be playful, he kept his mouth shut and his hands gentle.

His pants came undone, and then Kendalina stopped. Dead.

"Trike?" She also never spoke when they made out. Triclops wasn't sure if she really wanted him to answer or not.

Something stung between his legs, like a splinter being pulled out. He yelped. Kendalina lifted her head to look right at him.

"It's white."

A/N: Yeah. You people are totally allowed to shoot me for this one. I really just couldn't help it.


	9. Old Joe's Diner

Better Days

By Sapadu

A/N: Wow. These just won't stop, will they? This one stars Triclops, Kendalina, and Ken. You can call it a what-if oneshot, if you want. Anyone who followed me here from Temple of the Jedi Order dot org will know who the owner of the diner is and where the story came from.

Chapter 9: Old Joe's Diner

When Triclops said they should do more as a family, this isn't what he'd had in mind. They could have gone to a museum, or for a walk in the city, or even on a trip to the medcenter – it COUNTED, if one looked at it from the 'Take your child to work' perspective.

Kendalina's solution was to take them all to dinner at a dingy and mostly empty spot literally a block away from their ship's docking place.

"Kenda..." Triclops muttered, glancing around the diner. The only other persons in the vicinity were the elderly human man who owned and operated the place and a patron at the other end of the counter, whom kept calling to them from his stool. If Kendal hadn't been wedged between them – and wedged he was, as the only reason their son hadn't bolted from the prospect of a family outing was because Kendalina had let him bring a datapad – Triclops would have gone fleeing from the diner and Kendalina would have gladly engaged the unsavory other patron in a fistfight.

"Trike...?" Kendalina responded, mimicking his tone. Kendal's fingers drummed nosily on the screen of his datapad. Force only knew what he was typing or looking for.

"...Was this really the best you could think of?" He finally asked.

"Oh, like there'd be any open tourist attractions on a planet like THIS. And, either way – you're an escaped mental institution patient, I'm a wanted rogue and Jedi, and we've got a little spawn that factions of the Empire are after. You tell me how well THAT would go." Kendalina hissed. Either the owner already knew or just didn't care, because he heard every word but didn't respond to any of it.

"And what about those crazy Rebs? The Imps are assholes, but the Rebs are just idiots. 'Oh, lets blow up everything in sight, because we want everything to be FREE!' The dumbasses!" Triclops was wondering if the other patron was drunk. It was the only reasonable explanation for how crude he was being. In the meantime, he kept his focus on the plate of food in front of him, occasionally glancing over to see what Kendal was typing. It looked, approximately, like counter arguments to everything the chap at the other end of the counter was yelling.

"Boy." Triclops shot Kendalina a dirty look, like he always did when she called their son 'boy' – they gave him a name for a reason, "Drink your tomato juice."

Triclops said nothing, but was proud to see Kendal give Kendalina a dirty look of his own, then tap out something on his datapad.

'I don't want to.' An artificial voice program intoned.

From experience, Triclops knew the look on Kendalina's face was a mixture of pride – the Kendalina he knew and loved always DID hate people who caved to demands without at least a little fight – and displeasure at not being obeyed. Under the counter, Triclops heard and felt Kendalina aim a little kick at their son's shins.

"Drink your tomato juice." She repeated. It sounded uncannily like Master Retaw when she'd given Kendalina a command.

Still, it wasn't leading to a pleasant family evening. And, though it might have been Triclops' imagination, he could swear the owner of the diner was watching them with a smirk.

Never a good sign.

"Kenda." Triclops interrupted as gently as he could, "Do not make him do what he does not want to do."

Kendalina turned her attention from Kendal and scowled at Triclops for a long, long moment. He was certain she was going to start berating him, except the other customer had apparently had enough of being ignored.

"He can't go through life only doing what he wants to do!" He pushed himself away from his own chair and staggered down to right where they were sitting, "Look at you three! With an attitude like that, you're never going to amount to anything. You, aren't you his father? Show some authority! Make him respect you! And you – what're you doing, giving your husband orders?" The customer shouted. Definitely drunk – no sober person would have dared talk to Kendalina that way if she was giving them the glare of death that Kendalina was giving this man.

The patron gave Kendal a slap on the shoulder. That alone made Triclops want to yank his arm off.

"Boy, take it from me – you go through life doing only what you want to do, you'll be dead! Look at me!" Triclops did, in spite of himself. The gentleman – in the loosest possible sense of the word – was probably only in his middle age, if Triclops looked at his posture and face, but he gave off the impression of someone much, much older, and only in the sense that he'd seen too much misery and unhappiness. Even then, Triclops had the distinct idea that it was entirely this man's fault – as though he'd gone around his whole life ignoring the good and only ever complaining or noticing the bad, "I've never done a thing I wanted to in my life!"

And there was Triclops' theory proved entirely correct. It was also, apparently, just the combination of syllables and words needed to make Kendalina spin around on her stool and start talking over their intrusive guest.

"Boy, you heard the old geezer! He's never done a thing he wanted to in his life – cuz, y'know, that's what makes a man a REAL man! What'dya think? Do YOU wanna be like this when YOU grow up?" And Kendalina was using her 'Sarcastic bitch' voice. This could pose nothing but ill for this old man.

Kendal gave the gentleman behind them a quick glance, then met Kendalina's eyes and adamantly shook his head. Kendalina cracked a grin and ruffled their son's hair.

"That's my boy." And then, she picked him up by the collar of his shirt and lifted him onto the other side of the counter, "Trike, get behind the counter and make sure the boy drinks his juice." This was said as Kendalina shrugged off her jacket and put up her fists to deal with the other customer.

Trike didn't need telling twice. He ducked below the counter just in time to see a chair go flying and hit the ceiling.

"Sorry about this." He muttered to the old owner, whom was cheerfully grinning and balancing an account book as he also hid below the counter. Kendal concurred, tapping something else into his datapad.

"I never thought I'd hear that line twice in my lifetime. It certainly something to see Master Orewahime change it's meaning into something better."

Triclops wanted to ask what he meant by that, but didn't get the chance, as the next sound they both heard was the shatter of glass as Kendalina had undoubtedly thrown something else.


	10. Home

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: This is an odd little snippet, ain't it? Instead of being a one-off from any of my strictly Star Wars verse stories, this is a little shot from my on crack, Star Wars comes to Earth fic, In My Blood. And, this being the end of the holiday season... shut up... Also, there's a bit more language in this chapter, so... beware.

Chapter 10: Home

Ken

As odd as Earth traditions go, I was fairly surprised by these holiday celebrations. After all, back home, there were very few real holidays, none of them were celebrated to quite the same degree. There were commemorations of wars and battles fought, to be sure. Endor Day had become something of a holiday, but it was mostly solemn and still mostly served as a memorial for those who lost their lives in the war. Victory Day was usually fairly bittersweet, no matter who was celebrating. And there were rarely any holidays that went beyond the day they were celebrated.

It was, as a result, something of a shock for me to see colored lights and strings of pine boughs hanging from lampposts in the French Quarter, or wreaths of lights in the shape of snowflakes pinned up to buildings on Canal Street, or banners with Earth Letters spelling 'Noel' draped in house windows anywhere else in New Orleans.

Oh, and Victor was no help. I mentioned any one of the sights I saw and his response was to snarl at me.

I did a little digging on the topic and found that all the fuss was for a holiday that would take place at the end of the month – supposedly, a religious holiday celebrating the birth of an important figure in Christian mythology.

...Still didn't explain why there were decorations like red berries and evergreen needles, or shops were suddenly having 'Special Christmas hours and Sales!' or why it was all coming in a full month before the actual holiday.

(A/N: No, I'm not holding a grudge over our ridiculous hours in the retail industry, why do you ask?)

I spent most of my time during the month doing research on the customs, as well as conducting experiments to find a socio-cultural answer for the incredible fuss over what was supposed to be only one day. I even went to the trouble as dressing up as an interviewer and conducting my own survey. I asked people how much they spent on these holiday preparations, what their usual customs were, why they did them, any scientific question I could think of.

Just another day in the life for a stranded Jedi Prince living with a two-millenia old vampire.

My first real understanding of what people found so enthralling about this celebration came when I was listening to the radio while compiling the results from the first survey and I heard a very slow, almost archaic sounding song droning out of the speakers. Given that the Earth music I'd become acquainted with (and very fond of) was classified as 'Hard rock' and that most of the radio stations I kept to had that general sound to them, I was surprised by the sudden shift into slow and subtle. Even more surprising was how much I really enjoyed it – the singer had good depth and control to his voice, and the music and choir in the background was complementary to the tone and mood. It was actually good enough for me to stop work and listen intently, at least waiting for the end of the piece to find out what the name of the song and the artist singing it was.

That was how Victor found me when he came up from the basement – my ear practically glued to the radio, I might have even been teary-eyed, with all my research materials spread out on the floor and on the couch like a mad-scientist having a nightmare from hell. Mighty embarrassing.

I later found out the song was a choral composition originally written by Franz Schubert and under the title Ave Maria. That began my hunt for more music of the same genre.

It also began a long, long month for my cohabitation with Victor.

"Don't tell me the pious bullshit has gotten to you, too." He snarled on the second week of my hunting down Christmas carols. I had a good selection now, both as music files on my computer, and on compact discs and vinyl records. And, honestly, it fascinated me how the acoustics had to work for groups of people to perform these works with no electrical equipment or computer programs to alter their sound. Yet, virtually all the music I'd compiled had been recorded years, even decades ago, when this planet's technology was much more primitive.

My response was to scowl at him and then defiantly turn up the volume on the recording of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'.

In retrospect, I should have known that Victor would respond by smashing my radio. That was usually how he responded to me baiting him – breaking things. Usually my things.

"You do realize they're celebrating the fact that their high-and-mighty God sentenced his son to die and then patted himself on the back because it supposedly saved humankind from their own, natural desires. It's a perverted vision of trash that's been warped so his cruelty sounds like fucking kindness." Victor snarled at me as he dropped the remains of my radio on the floor and deliberately walked over them.

"Maybe I just like the music!" I snapped back, getting to my feet, "Is that such a crime? Excuse me for being a supporter of the arts!"

Victor wheeled on me. I put up my fists. Why not? He didn't scare me, and I was sick of being his target for when he got pissy because of some old slight that had been dealt him. Oh, this deity had supposedly stolen his precious Joshu from him, and this former lover had then spent two-thousand years begging him to come to heaven. Boo hoo. It could have been a lot worse, and it was over and done with. Get over it.

I said as much.

That got me knocked into the wall. When I woke up in the morning, I was dizzy and felt a serious bruise on my face – given that Victor could have done much worse while I'd been knocked out, I was relieved that all he did was proceed to drink his usual meal of blood.

After that night, I was tempted to avoid him and make him go hungry for the rest of the month. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to be that cruel. I continued looking up, listening to, and buying Christmas music, even finding impressive rock and jazz and pop artists had written original songs in recent years on the subject, but I didn't push it in Victor's face and put in headphones when he came up to bother me. We didn't talk until the year had passed.

The radio stations changed back to normal music after the twenty-fifth. I kind of missed it, but at least I could have the radio blaring like usual and not have to go diving for headphones everytime I heard footsteps on the stairs. And, of course, people took down their decorations, stores stopped having special sales for the holiday, and the general mania that had originally sparked my scientific curiosity died down.

Official conclusion: Collective obsessional behavior.

My interest changed to meteorology – given that the New Orleans' climate had changed as the months had gone by, I was curious why it seemed to shift on this planet, and how it changed in different areas.

Oh, it was interesting, don't get me wrong – I spent hours reading about it, making measurements with barometric instruments, and observing air flow patterns and cloud formations... but it was because I was studying the clouds that, one night in January, I found myself on the roof just looking up at the stars.

Given that Victor and I were still not back on speaking terms, I'd locked the door to my room so I wouldn't be bothered, and had set on my records of the Christmas music. And that was how I found myself listening to Frank Sinatra's 'I'll be home for Christmas' while staring at the stars. The music from the phonograph slunk slowly through the window and into the night air, sending goosebumps up my back as I listened and thought.

It was something that I supposed was another universal trait of humans – some of the best propaganda the Alliance had ever put out was messages and transmissions from pilots and soldiers for their families, talking about how much they wanted to see them again, how much they missed their homes. It was the same for survivors of Alderaan or any other planet destroyed or devastated by the conflict.

The need for belonging. A place to return to. For a home.

It must have been the same for the people on Earth. And I wasn't stupid – they had commonplace people, work or other obligations that kept them from seeing their families, but they also had wars and soldiers who spent months, even years from their homes. It did make me feel a little empathy for them, wishing they could see their families again.

...And here I was – stranded and marooned. No family, either here with me or back in the galaxy I'd come from, waiting for me. I had no ship, no guide, no way of getting back home. I kept staring into the sky, wondering if any of these constellations were visible from any planet back home. If I was maybe staring at a star that gave some light to one of the planets I knew.

But it didn't matter. I couldn't go back home, anyway – I wouldn't be home, not for a holiday or any normal day. There was nothing there for me, nowhere for me to return, nothing to return to.

But I missed it, all the same.

Victor

Ken had pushed it too far. I was used to him baiting me or taunting me to prove that he could fight back. Sometimes, I even enjoyed it – it gave me a nice challenge to continue measuring myself against.

However, taunts about Joshu were off limits. Since he'd figured out everything else, I had told him this straight up. So far, Ken had refrained from making any remarks or comments about my obsession, until this.

'Get over it.' I think that was had angered me the most. Not just the dismissive nature of a boy who wasn't even old enough to grow a beard, but that it had made me think, for the shortest, most intolerable second of my life that I might not have as much power or control as I was accustomed to – not just that, but that I might just have been without power or control this whole time.

So, wanting to get some of that back, I went looking for it in Ken's belongings. The next argument we had, I wanted something to throw at him.

Of course, this was foolish thinking – Ken never put any outward signs in his belongings about what he was thinking or his past. I'm sure someone like Ken would have looked at everything he had and immediately deduced something like 'Ah, this shows an obsessive compulsive tendency towards molecular fascination' or some other bullshit. To me, all I saw was he was reading an inexplicable amount of science books. The only thing odd was that he hadn't touched any of them in days.

I went looking for him in the house – I knew he was here, somewhere, but his ability to block my control over him with the Force always muddled my senses as a vampire to track my prey. I had to check every room before I finally stopped by the room that was meant for him. I heard the distinct sounds of Frank Sinatra's singing crackling over a phonograph.

Frank Sinatra singing one of those songs that had started our argument. I wanted to think Ken had deliberately been baiting me to come look for him just to show off his defiance, except there had been no real baiting on his part.

I tried the door. It was locked. Cursing him, I went down to the next room in the house and clambered out of the window, intending on jumping to the window into Ken's room. Instead, I saw Ken on his back on the sloping roof. His legs dangled off the gutter, where he let them hang by the knee. If he noticed me climbing onto the roof next to him, he said nothing. I could hear the Sinatra record from the window, somehow out of place in the January air of New Orleans, which was chilly, but nowhere near what most would consider wintery weather.

Even as angry as I was at being virtually bound to him, at being tied down and powerless in the face of his complete absence of fear for me, I did still appreciate what I had found attractive about Ken at first. I could see his face clearly in the near total darkness, where his human eyes would have had to strain to see me. His skin seemed translucent, and his features were accented perfectly with nothing but stars lighting them up – the smooth curves in his cheeks and chin seemed perfect, positioned in just the right spots against the sharpness of his brow and nose and lips. He could have been carved out of marble, like a Greek statue.

"Victor, do you ever miss Rome?" Ken spoke, taking me by surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Rome. Or Jerusalem? Do you miss either of them?" He repeated. I could see him focused completely on the stars. Their reflections made his eyes gleam, looking more like precious metal than they usually did.

"Jerusalem was a hive of squalor and decrepitude. The people were repulsive, the culture was backwards, and even the portions for Romans, exclusively, were pitiful compared to the capital. Pilate was an incompetent fool, and the soldiers were just as useless. There was nothing worth missing." I snapped, leaning back and watching the sky with him.

"A wretched hive of scum and villainy, huh?" Ken offered, perfectly tongue-in-cheek. I didn't dignify his words with a response.

Of course, since he'd asked, I could guess what Ken was thinking about. What to do with it... that was something I could think about, particularly since Ken was usually good at staying out of arguments with me unless he knew he could win.

"Tell me about it." Again, he surprised me by speaking up when I'd thought he'd stay silent.

"About what?" I could guess what this was about, but I honestly didn't know what 'it' was.

"Rome. What was it like?" This was yet another surprise, but this time, because I automatically didn't want to tell him. Others before him, I hadn't minded – Michael, Paul, even Kyle, before he'd perished – I didn't mind telling them about Rome, how glorious it had been at the height of the Empire, about my father's villa, how my brother, Justin and I, had spent days when we'd been boys, about my mother and how she kept our house running with grace and nobility, how I missed the splendor and glory of the Roman Empire and how it had pained me to see it crumble under the Germanic invasions.

Telling it to Ken... it made me pause. For one thing, I kept expecting him to sneer at my origins and deconstruct them – I knew very well how he viewed Empires, no thanks to the fact that he'd grown up in the middle of a war with the worst possible example of what an Empire might be. Honestly, whenever he described the Galactic Empire, it honestly felt like the buffoon who'd lead it had deliberately picked the worst features of any Empire and expanded them so that was all.

For another, Ken never asked just to be sympathetic. Telling him anything felt like I was letting down my guard, and it would always catch me. I couldn't be safe.

He was dangerous.

"Why should I tell you?" I growled. It irritated me that he had so much power to make me fear him, despite how pitiful he was.

Ken shrugged.

"I just wondered if you needed someone to talk to."

"Just because you're homesick doesn't mean I'm as weak as you." I snapped. Ken didn't respond. Inside the room, I could hear the phonograph record click as Frank Sinatra's voice started again on the same melancholy notes, "And is your record broken?"

Much to my pleasure, Ken jolted up.

"Actually, I just had it on repeat. But if it bothers Your Royalness, I'll change it." He swung back down to the window and into the room. In a moment, I heard the record skip and Sinatra's singing stop. Then, the creak and slam of a door opening and shutting as Ken walked back downstairs.

It left me up on the roof, staring into the stars. Completely against my will, I couldn't think about anything but wonder what kind of planet Ken had come from.

A/N: Yeah, I know – I'm a sap. I just felt bad about not having updated any of my fics. I honestly am working on them... but it's hard to get from point A to point B.


	11. Sabaacc Face

BETTER DAYS

By Sapadu

A/N: Officially dedicated to the... ONE... other author whom is also writing Ken, the Jedi Prince fanfiction. I've felt so lonely, up until now.

Story 11: Sabaacc Face

"You damn kid!" Han swore, quite badly, throwing down his hand and glaring at Ken across the holochess table. Luke had to roll his eyes and resist the urge to kick Han under the table – was it really so hard to not swear around the twelve-year-old Jedi Prince, lest the boy pick up some words that Luke really would rather he didn't know?

Ken shrunk back behind his hand while Wes and Wedge had a good laugh that Han had lost so many hands in a row to a kid.

"Laugh it up, boys." Hobs pointed out, darkly, "If Han's lost, we're all on our way to getting beat out, too."

Luke sighed and closed his eyes to force himself into calm.

It had been Wes' brilliant idea to start a sabaacc game in the Falcon's galley, dragging Han and Luke into it, and Wedge had suggested that Ken join them, if only because 'You can't be in the Alliance and not know how to play'.

Also, the phrase 'Make a man outta him' might have come up.

Luke was trying to be patient – really, he was – but the fact that Wes and other Rogues had thought it their place to more or less bully Ken whenever Luke wasn't around was aggravating. They meant well, he knew, but there was a line between trying to mold the boy into a good person and 'Beatin' the sissy outta him'. And, honestly, Luke did not much care for the latter.

At any rate, Ken was doing remarkably well in the game. Luke had long folded out and each round was seeing a steady pile of chips grow in Ken's corner of the table. There were a few chips piled at Han's elbow and Wes', but that had been early in the game.

Earlier in the game, Ken had needed a few repeated explanations of the concept of 'Bluffing'.

"But, Commander Skywalker, if you say you have something in your hand that you do not, that's LYING. And you said you cannot do that." The boy had insisted.

"If someone calls the hand, you have to show all your cards. THAT'S when it would be lying to say you have something you don't. And during the game, you don't WANT to tell your opponents what you have. But betting as though you have something in your hand that you might not really have isn't lying, because you're not TELLING your opponent what you have or don't have – you're just betting. They could guess that you either have a really good hand, or you're bluffing." Luke was much better at being patient with Ken – partly because he was sincerely confused by any number of topics, and partly because once he did understand, Luke knew Ken would stick with it.

Ken had considered this explanation, then proceeded to jabber away at probable scenarios.

"So... if Captain Solo had a very poor hand, but he continued to put chips on the pile, that would be bluffing? Because he would be doing it to let the other players THINK he had a good hand, and they would eventually give up?"

"Yes, Ken."

"Or supposing Captain Antilles had a better hand than Major Janson, but Major Janson had a better hand than Captain Solo? The three of them would continue to bet and bet and bet, until one of them began to wonder if the other two had better hands than he did? So, in theory, Major Janson could win if Captain Antilles decided to fold, even though Major Janson had a worse hand than Captain Antilles?"

"Yes, Ken."

There had been a beat.

"So, really, this is like psychological warfare!"

That proclamation had taken everyone at the table by surprise – more for the blunt nature of the statement than anything else.

Han had regained his composure, first.

"Yeah... yeah, kid – kinda like that."

Ken's face at that moment had been positively glowing.

"Similar to how, in real war, you might not know what kinds of weapons your enemy might have – you think that you would have better, more powerful weapons, or a bigger army, or better strategists, but they might have those things without you knowing it. So, you would try to intimidate your enemy without giving away how powerful your weapons are, how many troops you have in your army, or what your strategies are."

Wes had shifted, rather uncomfortably, at this analysis. Luke – being the only non-player – couldn't help but wonder what kinds of hands they'd been dealt.

"Yeah, kiddo, you're very smart. Now, shut up." Hobs had pointed out. But that had done it – that was the first round Ken had one, and he'd lost only another one since – once when Wes had had an Idiot's Array and Ken had folded within the first round.

That was seven rounds ago.

"Hobbie, Hobbie, Hobbie..." Wes scolded, sounding earnestly disappointed in his fellow Rogue, "It was never about WINNING – the question was always how much we could make anyone ELSE lose."

Hobs scowled at Wes and Wedge, both of whom were gleefully enjoying the fun. Han, of course, was still scowling at Ken, sweeping the pile of chips across the table.

"Seriously, how are you doing this shit?" Hobs finally demanded of Ken.

Luke didn't hold back and did kick Hobs in the shins. Ken, meanwhile, was blinking quite innocently at the four adults whom were glowering at him.

"Seriously, kid – you better not be using those Jedi powers or whatever." Wes turned serious for a moment, "There are systems in the galaxy that'll kill you if anyone catches you doing that."

Ken pulled a face.

"Why would I use the Force? A Jedi is only supposed to use the Force to defend himself, in EMERGENCIES." He looked at Luke, eyes wide, "Right?"

Luke nodded, just a tiny bit proud that, whatever Ken was doing, it wasn't cheating with the Force.

"Then what?" Wes asked, "I've never seen anyone win so many hands in a row."

Ken blinked, again.

"...But it is easy – each card has a probability of one in seventy-eight, and that decreases as the dealing goes on, and the probability of being dealt a specific hand – three times seventy-eight – makes the hands of each player less and less probable. Then, when you account the order of the cards PRIOR to shuffling..." Luke had to put a hand on Ken's shoulder. Immediately, the noise ceased, leaving five, fully-grown men outright gaping at the boy in shock.

"...So... wait..." Wes started, slowly, as though struggling to grasp the concept, "...You're saying you can... CALCULATE... what our hands are?"

Ken blinked right back.

"Well... yes. It is all in the math. Anyone could do it."

All the stares turned from Ken to Luke. He knew very well what those stares meant.

"Ken." Luke started, turning Ken, bodily so he could put both hands on his shoulders. And then, Luke found himself calmly and gently explaining the term 'Counting Cards'.

Ken's face fell.

"...So... what I have been doing is... cheating?" He asked, quietly. The boy sounded positively crushed.

"Yes, Ken – technically, you've been cheating." Luke managed to not sound accusing as he said these words.

The Rogues and Han were still staring at Ken with something bordering between shock and respect.

"...Kiddo..." Wedge finally struggled to form proper words, which promptly failed him before Han took over.

"If you can do all that calculating in your HEAD..."

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING PLAYING SABAACC WITH A BUNCH OF LOSERS FOR NO CREDITS?" Wes finished, and was promptly elbowed by both Han and Wedge.

Hobs made a sweep with his arm and scooped all the cards back into a deck. Luke took the chips and Ken immediately started to help him reorganize them back into their places.

"'Snot like it matters – we weren't playing for chips or nothin'." Hobs shrugged. Wes shrugged, apparently also consoled with this idea. Luke was eternally grateful for the fact that neither Wedge nor Han seemed to disagree, nor think the subject worth arguing about.

There was a moment of silence.

"How about holochess?" Han finally said, this time looking deliberately at Ken. The boy tilted his head to the side, blinking rather innocuously, "You know how to play that?"

Ken shook his head.

In response, Han's roguish grin came back and he tapped on the holochess table. An array of pieces appeared on the squares. The box near Ken's elbow – right beneath his black king – lit up and Luke could see a set of instructions on the rules and gameplay of holochess printed in neat, orderly letters on the screen.

"I'll teach ya – least in this game, everyone's got a fair shot."

The Rogues snickered, apparently more than interested in seeing how well this would go. Ken's eyebrows scrunched together as he read the instructions, then returned the grin Han was shooting his way.

- Fifteen minutes later –

"YOU DAMN KID!"

A/N: I'm working on both Prince and In My Blood. I WILL have new chapters out before the end of November – for BOTH of them.

I'm also in the National Novel Writing Month gambit, as well as looking for a job and with any amount of schoolwork, so... yeah, pray for my soul, people.


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